groan. “Sorry Nick,” she whispered, “Want a cot to crash on?”
He grabbed her wrist. “Is it done?” he hissed.
“It’s done.”
He let her go. “I’m going home.”
“Do you want me to walk you there? It’s very dark.”
“Is it? It doesn’t matter. I know the way.” He swayed as he rose to his feet and Ruth held out an arm to steady him. He turned toward her and she could smell the sour despair on his breath as he spoke. “Eighteen years ago, there wasn’t a five foot stretch of darkness between here and my house. The traffic was bumper to bumper because it was a Friday. Even the sidewalk was crowded with people. I took my wife to the hospital on the subway because I didn’t think we’d make it in time if I drove. It was so hot, just like now. I thought Sarah would faint, but she made it to the emergency room. And the air conditioning slapped into us and the nurses scurrying back and forth— so many people. But they were just background noise.” His voice broke and he gripped Ruth’s arm. “The whole world was just background noise. There was just Sarah and me. And then, in a few hours, just Sarah and Emma and me. Alone in that electric, noisy world. And that was all right. It was all right. I know I’m supposed to say that I miss them. All those other people. That I’m sorry they died and left this stillness that covers everything. But I never missed them. I never had time to. After Sarah turned, I didn’t even notice the rest of the world. The ones that were left were just in the way. Just taking medicine that I thought might help my wife and daughter. Just eating food I needed for them or burning fuel that could keep them warm. I killed my neighbors after they turned. And I burned their furniture, and all the files in their desks. Birth certificates, taxes, photo albums. Didn’t matter. Hoarded their food for us, turned away healthy people who could have used it. I didn’t care. There was only us.”
“Why are you telling me this?” asked Ruth.
“So you know what Emma meant. So she’s not just a spent bullet in the world when I’m not here to remember her. When the house burns down and every scrap of her is gone, someone should remember. I can’t even make a stone marker for her. But you’ll remember. That’s why you keep the photographs, right? Because you think you’ll forget. Because you think you’ve already forgotten what your son looked like. But you didn’t. Not really. You know how much every one of them meant. Better than I do. You know how much people really loved them. You gave Emma the only thing that I couldn’t. You gave all of them what they needed most, whatever that crazy priest thinks. He says I’ll go to hell for turning to you. He thinks that scares me. The truth is, if that’s the price it costs to give Emma and Sarah some peace, then I accept it.”
“I’ll get there before you will,” mumbled Ruth.
“Then at least I’ll have a friend,” said Nick. “Goodbye, Ruth.” He let her go and pushed open the heavy glass door.
“Goodbye, Nick,” she answered. He was a shadow against the warm night. She thought she saw him raise a hand to her, and then he was gone, part of the stillness of the dead city. At last she turned and locked herself in the tiny reception area of the police station. She plugged the music player into her tiny solar charger, unbelted the heavy gun and lay down fully clothed on the cot, heartsick.
Chapter 14
The cord glowed red against Ruth’s hand. Like the blood of martyrs. More real than anything around it, more real than the boy or Ruth or the Congregation at Father Preston’s back. She draped it over her foul trophy board. He’d have to give a sermon on the pride of the wicked. That would encourage his reluctant flock to do something about it.
Ruth murmured something to the boy.
He was cheerful now that he’d won. The moment of triumph had been years in the making and it was all the sweeter when it finally
He grabbed her wrist. “Is it done?” he hissed.
“It’s done.”
He let her go. “I’m going home.”
“Do you want me to walk you there? It’s very dark.”
“Is it? It doesn’t matter. I know the way.” He swayed as he rose to his feet and Ruth held out an arm to steady him. He turned toward her and she could smell the sour despair on his breath as he spoke. “Eighteen years ago, there wasn’t a five foot stretch of darkness between here and my house. The traffic was bumper to bumper because it was a Friday. Even the sidewalk was crowded with people. I took my wife to the hospital on the subway because I didn’t think we’d make it in time if I drove. It was so hot, just like now. I thought Sarah would faint, but she made it to the emergency room. And the air conditioning slapped into us and the nurses scurrying back and forth— so many people. But they were just background noise.” His voice broke and he gripped Ruth’s arm. “The whole world was just background noise. There was just Sarah and me. And then, in a few hours, just Sarah and Emma and me. Alone in that electric, noisy world. And that was all right. It was all right. I know I’m supposed to say that I miss them. All those other people. That I’m sorry they died and left this stillness that covers everything. But I never missed them. I never had time to. After Sarah turned, I didn’t even notice the rest of the world. The ones that were left were just in the way. Just taking medicine that I thought might help my wife and daughter. Just eating food I needed for them or burning fuel that could keep them warm. I killed my neighbors after they turned. And I burned their furniture, and all the files in their desks. Birth certificates, taxes, photo albums. Didn’t matter. Hoarded their food for us, turned away healthy people who could have used it. I didn’t care. There was only us.”
“Why are you telling me this?” asked Ruth.
“So you know what Emma meant. So she’s not just a spent bullet in the world when I’m not here to remember her. When the house burns down and every scrap of her is gone, someone should remember. I can’t even make a stone marker for her. But you’ll remember. That’s why you keep the photographs, right? Because you think you’ll forget. Because you think you’ve already forgotten what your son looked like. But you didn’t. Not really. You know how much every one of them meant. Better than I do. You know how much people really loved them. You gave Emma the only thing that I couldn’t. You gave all of them what they needed most, whatever that crazy priest thinks. He says I’ll go to hell for turning to you. He thinks that scares me. The truth is, if that’s the price it costs to give Emma and Sarah some peace, then I accept it.”
“I’ll get there before you will,” mumbled Ruth.
“Then at least I’ll have a friend,” said Nick. “Goodbye, Ruth.” He let her go and pushed open the heavy glass door.
“Goodbye, Nick,” she answered. He was a shadow against the warm night. She thought she saw him raise a hand to her, and then he was gone, part of the stillness of the dead city. At last she turned and locked herself in the tiny reception area of the police station. She plugged the music player into her tiny solar charger, unbelted the heavy gun and lay down fully clothed on the cot, heartsick.
Chapter 14
The cord glowed red against Ruth’s hand. Like the blood of martyrs. More real than anything around it, more real than the boy or Ruth or the Congregation at Father Preston’s back. She draped it over her foul trophy board. He’d have to give a sermon on the pride of the wicked. That would encourage his reluctant flock to do something about it.
Ruth murmured something to the boy.
He was cheerful now that he’d won. The moment of triumph had been years in the making and it was all the sweeter when it finally
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